


[untitled]

by riptheh



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Maybe - Freeform, based on the short untitled, basically i wrote the short with yaz and the doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 05:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21031031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riptheh/pseuds/riptheh
Summary: A short story based on the short film Untitled. Yaz sits on a train at the end of her rope, and has a conversation with a mysterious woman.





	[untitled]

**Author's Note:**

> yo if you want to watch the short check it out its really good https://vimeo.com/216687341 i stan jodie's acting SO fucking hard

The train car swings along the tracks, utterly empty. Yaz likes it like this. There’s that secret thrill that comes with briefly owning a public space, sure, but there’s also a relief that’s new to her. Well, not new. Dreadfully familiar, if she’ll admit that to herself. 

The train car is empty, which leaves her room to fall apart, just a little bit. Not on the outside, but on the inside. Her bag, the strap loose in her hand, half-dangles half-slumps against the floor. Every time the train hits a bump, something inside rattles. Yaz tries not to think about that. Instead she stares at the legs of the seat opposite her, grimy and gummed, and thinks of nothing at all.

A woman sits next to her.

Yaz looks up, blinks. She hadn’t even seen her come on. One glance tells her she’s a member of the peculiar crowd, the kind you can only find in public transportation and in the middle of big cities, where there’s enough people for everybody to be who they want. She has blue trousers too short at the ankles, worn boots, a rainbow-smeared shirt, and yellow suspenders. A long pale-blue coat completes the image, as does the short blond hair, and the smile Yaz knows is reserved for her. Even if she’s not even looking in her direction.

Surprise turns to annoyance. Yaz blinks, and doesn’t scowl because that would be rude. Instead she turns her gaze back to the grimy floor of the train, and tries not to think about anything at all. 

“You’ll be getting off in three stops, won’t you?” 

Yaz’s breath catches; her heart skips. She looks up quickly, into the face of the stranger who isn’t looking at her at all. 

The stranger is still smiling, kind, but—there’s a hint of something else there too. 

“Well,” she says softly. “I suppose I’ll have to be quick, then.”

Yaz doesn’t say anything. She just stares. Briefly, she wonders if this woman is about to murder her. She doesn’t seem the type, but—maybe she does, too.

“Your parents are waiting for you back home,” the woman continues. “Najia and Hakim Khan, married almost twenty-two years. Your mum has saved some dinner for you, just in case you haven’t eaten. Your dad is watching the late night news. He always watches the late night news. You think it’s silly, because he just falls asleep and never comes out more informed on the other side.”

Distantly, Yaz realizes that her mouth is open, as if to say something. She shuts it quickly, if only because she doesn’t know what to say. She’s never been one to speak without thinking, alway made sure to parse her thoughts before spilling them out into the world, but now she’s simply too bloody gobsmacked to say a word. She’s not used to speaking to strangers on public transportation. Especially not strangers who—

“Your sister Sonya drives you crazy.” There’s a faint, fond smile upon the woman’s face, as if recalling her own childhood siblings. “Doesn’t help that she’s had everything you’ve always wanted in school—friends, popularity, invitations to all the parties even though you never wanted to go to them anyway. She even has a boyfriend, which is completely unfair because you can’t even talk to girls. Oh—”

She stops for a moment, having at last noticed Yaz’s face, and hastily backs up. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that last bit out loud, seeing’s as you’re still keeping it a secret. Sorry,” she flutters her hand, makes a grimace, “I just get talking and it all comes spilling out. Love talking, me. Very versatile skill.”

She smiles again, and only then has Yaz realized that she’s relaxed slightly, shoulders slumping. She’s still curled in on herself a little bit, and her hand has tightened around the strap of her bag, as if worried the woman might snatch it away from her. The woman’s eyes flick down to it, and then her smile fades into a frown.

“You know—” She bends down slightly, points to the bag, only to stop as Yaz’s fingers jerk around the strap— “I’ve got a few other skills ‘sides talking that could work here. Lot easier on my end, I suppose.”

She’s frowning thoughtfully, considering, and then her gaze falls to Yaz and she gives her a wink. “Want me to show you something?”

Yes. No. Yaz isn’t sure which one will come out of her mouth, so she keeps it tightly shut. The woman takes this as a maybe, and clearly decides to do it anyway. 

“Here,” she leans over and cups her hands as if trying to scoop water. Yaz, despite her misgivings, leans in. “See? Empty. Because I’ve never reached into your bag and pulled out the paper clip lying at the bottom of it. But of course, if I had decided to do that a few minutes ago—”

There’s a jolt, not of the train, Yaz realizes a moment later, but of the world around her. She jumps slightly, and then catches sight of something silvery in the woman’s hands. A paper clip. One of hers, she’s sure of it, because she has a dozen at the bottom of her bag from when she brought home some office supplies and the box spilled open and she never cleaned them out. The woman had not been holding it a moment before—her hands had been empty. But now—

Yaz lets out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. She looks up to the woman, ready to demand an explanation, only to realize that she’s not sure what for. Because that jolt is fading like mist from her head, and another memory is seeping in, a memory of the woman reaching into the bag despite her protests and pulling out the paper clip, cupping it in both hands—

“How” reaches her lips, and never makes it past. The woman winks again, then closes her fist around the paper clip and pulls it back.

“Just a bit of timeline tomfoolery,” she says airily, as if this were the least unusual thing in the world. “Pushed in a few seconds that hadn’t happened. Nothing special, but of course—” She shrugs. “Thought it might illustrate.”

Yaz has no idea what it might illustrate. She stares, unable to find the words to ask the question, until the woman catches those questions in her eyes and jabs a finger towards the bag.

“In there,” she says. “I could just change things, couldn’t I? Make it not happen. But then that’s just mucking about in your choices, and free will and all that, and I don’t _do_ that, Yasmin Khan.”

Yaz’s heart fairly stops. The woman shrugs, unperturbed. 

“And Yaz to your friends. Sorry, I knew that at the beginning, but thought it’d be better to wait a minute. Love a bit of drama, me. Can I call you Yaz, though? I’d like to think we’re friends.”

Yaz finds herself nodding before her brain catches up to the fact. The woman fairly beams, and opens her mouth to say something, only for the intercom to crackle an announcement for the next stop. Immediately, her smile turns to a grimace.

“Oh, that’s yours, isn’t it?” Without warning, she leaps to her feet, adjusts her coat at the lapels, then spins around. Only then has Yaz realized that this is, in fact, her stop. 

The woman sticks her hand out, that beaming smile creeping once more across her face. “Well, Yaz. You can call me the Doctor. And it was lovely to talk to you, really was. Can I tell you something?”

She pauses, waiting for an answer, and her eyes dart to her own hand, which Yaz has yet to take. Yaz takes it numbly, and lets the Doctor pump it up and down enthusiastically, talking as she goes.

“Your parents are waiting for you, Yasmin Khan. They don’t really know all that stuff banging around in your head—nor do I, exactly. I only see what’s on the outside, yeah? But that pain and loneliness pouring out of you—no I’m not a mind reader, just perceptive—isn’t the end of things. You’re still you, behind all of that. And that you is somebody who deserves to be loved and cared for, even if you don’t feel it. Oh, don’t give me that look. I can tell.”

She withdraws her hand and taps the side of her head, grinning. “Perceptive, remember?”

The train grinds to a halt and Yaz, staring at the Doctor, abruptly realizes that she has to get off. She jerks back to reality, glancing at her bag to ensure that it’s in her hand, and when she glances up again, the car is empty. The woman—the Doctor—is gone.

There’s only the open doors, beckoning. Yaz stares at them, then jumps to life and hurries off, with only a single backwards glance. Dimly, she realizes that she’s hungry. Then she recalls that her mum is saving her dinner, and she smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> lmao what's editing


End file.
